If You Love Him
by RaeLaser1
Summary: A story of a girl with epilepsy, and Edward. Will she find love, or have her heart broken? Please R&R. COMPLETE
1. Amy

Chapter 1

Amy just wanted to be a normal girl. She just wanted to fit in, and be liked. She was intelligent, but nothing special, or showy. She was not even (Dare I say it?) excessively attractive. Plus, she had epilepsy. If that wasn't like being born with a target on her back, she didn't know what was.

She was short, adding to her helpless look. She had thick brown hair that refused to grow any longer than three inches past her shoulders. She was thin, painfully thin. Her only real beauty lay in her eyes, big green eyes, flecked with brown. She had a habit of staring in a way that was very disconcerting when being mocked.

She was basically alone. Her single mother was of course always there for her, but it wasn't quite the same. Plus, she was Amy's mother, which meant a lot of the time, she _couldn't_ be her friend. Sometimes she had to punish her, or something motherly like that.

So Amy was alone, struggling in a world full of nightmares and private demons that she would never dream of sharing with her mother.

She looked outside. It was summer, a beautiful day no less. She stood outside on the lawn, wrapping her arms around herself tightly, and examined her neighborhood.

A pale, pasty kind of prettiness, perfect, candy-coated houses, perfect families, and perfect lawns surrounded Amy. It always amazed her that she was here at all, what's more, living in one of those houses. She had always felt disconnected from it, like a maverick atom swirling randomly in a galaxy of primness and orderliness.

Amy sighed. Before the fourth grade, it had never felt like this. Before her first grand mal epileptic fit . . . hopefully her last. She groaned, remembering the day.

The teacher had been showing a Christmas movie to the children. In one scene, black and white had suddenly started flashing on the screen. That was the last Amy remembered, but the students remembered everything else perfectly. Amy had suddenly launched herself out of her seat, convulsing violently. In one particularly violent spasm, her back arched, and a piercing scream had keened out of her throat.

Nobody would _ever_ forget. At the best of times, only a few students were calling her "Spaz" and pushing her around. At the worst, everybody joined in, even the teachers.

Yes, things were different after that, and not just with other people. It changed her too. Some of her memories from before were just gone. And petit mal seizures, where she simply blacked out for a few seconds, were all too common for her, adding fuel to the teachers' persecution. But most of all, her thinking processes had even seemed to change. Sometimes they seemed speeded up, and at other times impossibly slow. She felt like a computer with a virus.

Sighing, she slowly turned back to the house, but before she reached it, a dark blur caught her eye. She turned around. Someone riding a bike with their collar up and hood down had tossed something on her lawn.

She stepped towards it, squinting to make out what it was. Brown, cylindrical . . . Oh shit!

She started to turn to run, but she was too late. The firecracker went off.


	2. Cruelty and Hate

Chapter 2

Later, after returning home from the hospital for her burned face, hands and shins, Amy tried deflecting her mother's urgent questions.

"I'm sure it was an accident!" she protested. "Somebody next door was probably having a birthday, and a firecracker got tossed over the fence. That's probably it. Nobody needs to get in trouble. It was an accident. That's all."

Amy felt horrible for lying to her mother. But it was necessary. No need for her to know what really happened. No need for her to know what really happened at school every day. No need for her to find out about the bruises she hid under her sweater. Besides, school was almost out, and soon she could stop wearing those heavy things in this heat wave.

Amy's mother, Rainy, gave her a skeptical stare, but saw in her daughter's eyes the plea for her to let this go. Reluctantly, she promised herself to bring it up later.

"Honey, have you taken your medicine yet?" she asked.

"Nope," Amy said, relieved at the change in discussion. "I'll go take some now." She popped up out of her seat, and instantly regretted it, her burned skin protesting. She slowly walked to the bathroom, trying to minimize her limp as much as possible, so as not to worry her mother.

She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, and scowled angrily. Fortunately, her hair had been tied back, so it had received little damage. But the skin on her face was bright red, shiny, and peeling. Her eyebrows appeared to have disintegrated, along with her eyelashes.

Amy angrily slapped the mirror, then sighed and opened it, taking out her seizure medication. She shook it. Two pills rattled together ominously. Amy dumped them out and swallowed them.

She peered inside; making sure extra pills weren't just stuck to the side. It was empty.

She jogged outside without bothering to tell her mother where she was going. The doctor's office wasn't too far away, within walking distance. Of course it was annoying that she had just been there, but then again, that meant the way was stamped into her brain.

Not for the first, or last time, Amy wished she could drive. She was eighteen years old, but it was doubtful she would ever find a medication reliable enough to ensure safety on the road.

As she was jogging down the road, something strange came over her. Little sparks kept dancing in her vision, and an oily, metallic scent was beginning to dominate her sense of smell. Her movements became uncoordinated, and one arm jerked wildly. Frightened, she stopped. She glanced around, looking for help. She took a step to the right, but then stopped. Her face sagged slightly, and all emotion left her face. She stood rigid and silent. She was unconscious, but still standing.

And after fifteen minutes, it was over. Amy's face twitched, and then she looked around puzzled.

"What am I doing here?" she wondered. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. After a few minutes, she knew where she was, and started home.

The next day, Amy walked to school. It was just too blazing hot to wear a sweater today; she wouldn't have been able to keep it on for a moment. Amy decided to wear a light blazer instead.

In class, with a practice evident of years of harassment, Amy settled low in her seat, and pulled the hood of the blazer up high enough to protect her hair from spitballs, but low enough to keep the teacher from making her take it off.

True to form, she felt several soft tugs from the hood directly into class. She refused to give them the pleasure of reaching back to see what it was. She already knew.

Today they were being especially violent. More than once she was hit with an eraser or a paper ball, and unkind hands in front of her and behind her were not above pinching. Examining her leg, she saw small bloody bruises lining it.

Slowly, a repetitive sound began to make itself obvious. At first, Amy couldn't make it out, but as it grew louder, it became obvious.

"_Spaz. Spaz. Spaz. Spaz. Spaz. Spaz. Spaz."_

Frightened, Amy snuck a glance behind her. The students were chanting it over and over again, punching pencils and rulers into the desk in time. One student pointed at her. The gesture itself was harmless, but the force behind it, and what it seemed to represent, were terrifying.

Mr. Nelson seemed to have forgotten about teaching, and was staring, fascinated at this unusual display of antagonism from his students.

And then the bell rang. Amy shot out of her seat, not bothering to collect her stuff.

Amy left school early. Lunchtime to be precise. During the next class, the same thing had happened. Not wanting to be cornered in the cafeteria, she left.

Angrily rubbing her eyes, she paid no attention to where she was going. Frustration and anger surged through her. She felt so helpless. She started running, trying to leave her emotions behind. For nearly five minutes, all that existed was the hard pavement under her feet, and the wind in her face. But she had to stop eventually.

She gasped and wheezed and panted, her burned skin screaming in protest. She was peeling atrociously; she probably looked like a snake shedding its skin. No wonder the students had gotten so much braver, she must look like a fool.

Amy looked up. She was standing in front of a dark mansion. Amy was confused, then frightened. Where was she? Nothing looked familiar. She looked around very carefully, and then realized she was on the other side of town.

People's curtains were starting to peel back, like eyelids, staring at her. Not feeling completely rational, Amy turned and walked up the path, anything to avoid those eyes.


	3. Rude Awakening

Disclaimer- I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I do not own any aspect of this story except Amy. If I did own it all, you could bet I wouldn't be sitting here writing a fanfic!

Chapter 3

Scraps of songs floated through Amy's head. She found humming aloud to be strangely pleasing and calming. Her visible agitation slowly faded. The events of the day seemed to fade into the background. She let her sore muscles take over, and her tired brain relax.

It was a steep hill, and Amy was beginning to think she would never reach the top, but finally, she reached a gate. She pushed the screechy, insistent thing open, and slid through it. So far, Amy had not really been using her brain much, but the benumbed lump inside her skull finally started thinking.

"What am I doing? This could be private property! I could be arrested. I'd look a fool then. Oh, wait until the jerks at school hear this one!" she moaned to herself. However, she stood irresolute, urged on by a sense of adventure, but held back by common sense. She craned her neck, trying to see past the gate. Once she did, she rushed forward, all thoughts of leaving vanishing.

It was a beautiful topiary garden. A green serpent rose and sank out of the ground. A giant hand was lifted towards heaven. All sorts of fantastic and bizarre shapes inhabited these bushes. There were flowers everywhere. A romantic, "secret garden" aura hung around the place. It was lonely but beautiful, and undoubtedly secret.

"Stop that!" Amy scolded herself. "Think sensibly. It's just a pretty garden."

Amy wandered around the yard, completely entranced despite her words. Sometimes she reached out to touch something. Every once in a while she just stood and stared.

But slowly, an obvious question was coming up. Who did this? The bushes didn't just grow this way, and the mansion was, to all appearances, abandoned. Anybody who let their home get in this condition would not have wasted time in the garden. And yet, here it was.

"Overzealous groundskeeper?" Amy suggested to herself. "Time to leave anyway. But . . . one glance inside couldn't hurt."

Amy pushed and shoved at the door until she got it to creak open, rumbling ominously. She stuck her head inside and looked around. Her mouth opened in astonishment.

The place was just as dusty and crumbly and broken down on the inside as it was on the outside. Gargoyles squatted on the stair rail, leering. A decrepit chandelier hung from the ceiling. Everything was covered with a layer of dust. Venturing further in, Amy saw large, round black mounds off to the side. She examined them carefully. All she could make of it was that it was hollow, metal, and hooked up to a great many other things.

Now Amy really wasn't paying attention, as she wandered further and further in, admiring intricate woodwork, strange shapes, and things malformed by age and rust.

A motion in the corner caught her attention. She put down the long steel pole she had been examining, and walked over. "Hello?" she called out briskly.

Suddenly she remembered that she was in someone else's house, and that they might not like her being here. More cautiously this time, she called out again, "Hello?"

A silhouette framed itself in the doorway. The sun was shining almost directly through the door, and Amy could only see a black blotch. She was about to call out again, when the breath was halted in her throat. The figure was carrying a load of knives. Her brain whirled, and then grasped the likeliest story. She was interrupting a drug deal, and they were coming to finish her off so she didn't report them.

A scream whipped out of her throat. Stupid, stupid! How did she get so far from the door? Naturally there would be someone blocking her only way out. She spotted the staircase and edged over slowly.

By now, the figure had stumbled away from the door. If Amy hadn't been blinded by the sunspots she was seeing, she would have noticed he looked more terrified than she did. She cleared her throat. "What do you want?" she asked. Her voice was wobbly and weak sounding, and cracked ridiculously on the last word. The figure, now sprawled on the floor, blinked owlishly at her, and huddled away.

"It's a trap," she muttered. "Trying to lure me in." Well, she was not getting near him with that hardware, not while she still valued her life. She suddenly took off for the staircase, expecting a knife in her back at any second. Surprisingly, she made it all the way up. The second her foot touched the top stair; she whirled around, intending to defend herself.

He was still crouched by the door. Amy's heart sank, but she continued running. She could see his strategy now. Obviously that door was the only exit, and he didn't intend to leave his post. She would have to go back eventually.

She found her way to the attic, and found the only window she had seen so far. She peered down, but had to quickly turn away. She was afraid of heights, and this was very, very high. Feeling queasy, she looked around, and saw a giant hole in the ceiling.

"Funny, how did I miss that?" she wondered. She stared out at the clouds. Perhaps the best thing to do was to jump after all. She might survive. The unspoken, _probably not_ hung in the air before her.

She suddenly determined to go back downstairs and take her chances with knife boy.

Tense, she sidled out of the room. She was deathly afraid. Being sliced into was not her preferred means of death. She was about to turn around and face down the window again, when a quiet, "Who are you?" shattered the silence.

Amy exploded into action. True, she did nothing useful except spin around, scream and flail, but her reflexes were amazing. The figure, a young man with a deathly pale face and deep set eyes, flinched and shrank back from this banshee. He brought his hands up in an instinctive protective gesture.

All Amy saw was this flash of bright metal, and then bright shears dancing at eye level a mere three feet away. She turned and ran, but as she did so, a bitter, oily smell, and fireworks going off in her brain assaulted her. She was convulsing before she hit the first step, and then she fell down them all, body twitching uncontrollably.

Yes, I know you had to wait two chapters, but you've finally seen Edward! Sorta . . . Anyways, be kind and please review, I would find it most comforting to know my story is being appreciated.


	4. The Meeting

(Disclaimer- I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I do not own any aspect of this story except Amy. If I did own it all, you could bet I wouldn't be sitting here writing a fanfic about it!)

Chapter 4

Amy slowly came back to herself from her unconscious state, and moaned in pain. A blanket had somehow materialized on her, but she had not been moved. She was lying on her face, her body twisted sideways, and her wrist pinned beneath her. She gasped and panted in pain. She thought her wrist might be broken.

What had happened? Where was she? She tried to concentrate, but after pulling her swollen wrist out from underneath herself, and shifting to make be more comfortable, remaining conscious was too much for her. She fell back asleep.

This time, when Amy woke up, she remembered what happened perfectly. The garden, the crumbly metal devices, the man, and the knives. She must have had a seizure. Nothing else could explain why her back muscles were sore like they were. And now she remembered back even further, to the empty medicine bottle, and the trip to the doctor's office that she apparently never made. She groaned aloud.

"Are you all right?" someone asked softly.

Amy's head snapped around. She was a shocking sight, her eyes glassy, and an open, bleeding gash on her forehead. _If anyone's that stupid, they deserve to be yelled at,_ Amy thought. "OF COURSE I'm not all right . . ." Amy cried. Yelling took a colossal effort though, and her impressive war cry dwindled into almost a whisper from the pain in her bruised ribs.

"I want to go home," she muttered to herself. "That's what I should've done in the first place, just gone straight home. I could've had a nice little contained seizure at home, been taken immediately to the hospital, given medicine, and then lain in bed for a week. Instead, I've fallen down a flight of stairs, broken numerous body parts, and are now lying on the cold floor freezing to death."

All her fear of this stranger dissipated. It was all his fault! Angrily, she turned her head and asked sharply. "Who are you?"

The mild voice replied hesitantly, "Edward."

She relented slightly, and said, "Mine's Amy."

For the first time, Amy got a good look at Edward. Thick, black, springy hair seemed to go everywhere. It framed a pale face. His eyes were dark and bruised looking, and seemed to contain all the sadness in the world. His lips were dark tinted and full, and his flesh was laced with scars. He was wearing a black leather outfit, covered in buckles and metal rings. Then she saw his hands. They were a loose assortment of scissors, bolted together, but moving independently. They were moving rapidly, twitching and rubbing against each other. He was staying well away from her.

Amy opened her mouth to scream, but coughed instead. She turned slightly, and rolled onto her hurt wrist. She whimpered and huddled up, catching her breath.

"Well, why are you just standing there?" Amy stormed breathlessly. "Are you going to kill me or help me?!"

Edward stepped towards her hesitantly, paused, appeared to change his mind, and stepped back. "I wouldn't hurt you," he said, his voice a little stronger.

"Then help me, dammit!"

His silence and upraised hands spoke more eloquently than words. He would not come nearer. It wasn't safe. His scissors twitched violently, and the look on his face was almost heartbreaking.

Amy was not paying attention to his body language. She cursed her bad fortune. Naturally, the only person around when she couldn't get up was a man with no hands. It was just like a bad joke, a prank. Maybe in a few minutes, this guy would rip off scissor-handed gloves, and laughing, help her up. No such luck of course. The scissors were obviously mechanisms, not gloves. There were spaces between the scissors where you could see straight through them, where an ordinary hand would have had flesh and bone.

Amy slowly pushed herself up with one hand, taking all her otherwise dead weight on one arm. For the first time, she realized how heavy the human body is. She curled her broken wrist against her stomach. Finally, she was sitting upright, leaning against the staircase.

"Oooh . . ." she groaned. The blood rushed to her head in a particularly nauseating way. She leaned back quickly and assessed her wounds. It wasn't nearly as bad as she had thought. The only thing she appeared to have broken was her wrist. She was badly bruised, but that was all.

All the while, Edward had been watching, fascinated. Gaining a little courage, he stepped towards this odd girl and asked, "What's wrong?"

"I just need a little time. I'll be able to walk out of here in an hour, tops," Amy said. It was true, the pain from her bruises was fading into a dull throbbing, and the weakness from her seizure was quickly dissipating. Her wrist however – well, you don't walk on your hands. She'd just have to deal with it.

"So, what are you doing here? Why haven't I heard about you?" Amy asked.

"I-I live here," Edward said. Amy sighed. She had that one coming to her. She should stop asking obvious questions anyways.

"So, what's with the hands?" Amy asked. He looked at her bleakly.

"I'm not finished."

"Huh? No wait. Never mind, I don't want to know." Amy pointed out the door Have you ever been down there before? I mean, out in town?"

A blank look passed over Edward's face, and he lowered his head. Not before Amy saw an unusually sorrowful look in his eyes, though.

She snapped her fingers. "You're the one who does the topiaries out there, aren't you?"

He raised his head, looking confused, and nodded his head.

_What am I doing? Trying to make conversation? He's dangerous!_ Amy thought to herself. With this dampening thought, she fell quiet, absorbed in gloomy reflections. So when Edward asked her a question, she was greatly surprised.

"Do you – do you know Kim?" Surprised by the fervor in his voice, Amy looked up, and was even more surprised. His eyes were wide open and hopeful, he was leaning forward slightly, his scissors held out to his sides clacking wildly. In his eagerness to know, he actually stepped several paces closer.

Amy's breath halted in her throat, and she tried to shrink inside herself. "Who- who's Kim?" she croaked, holding out her hand, signaling for him to stop.

He halted, confused. "Everybody knows Kim," he murmured, staring at her quizzically. "Kim Boggs," he said louder. "Do you know her? Have you heard of her?" he asked again. His words were hesitant and fearful.

"No. I've never heard of her. Who is she?" Amy asked, bored. Instead of answering, Edward turned around, absolute despair on his face. "Hey, I'm sure it'll be fine, you'll hear something about her I bet," Amy added, a little concerned. Then she remembered who – or what – she was talking to, and decided it was time to go. She felt much better, besides her atrocious stiffness, soreness, and pounding headache. But at least she could walk. It could've been much worse. She stood up, swayed shakily, and set off towards the door.

"Don't go!" came the plea from behind her.

"Sorry kid, I've got places to be," Amy said resolutely. It wouldn't be dark for an hour or so. She could make it home, and have her mother drive her to the hospital to get her wrist set.

"Will you come back?" This was said so wistfully, that Amy stopped involuntarily, half frightened. She didn't know what this guy might do to her

"Uh, yeah. Yes, sure. I will come back and visit you. No doubt about it. Won't let you down. Right after the hospital," Amy slid out of the door as fast as she could, mentally promising herself, _Never, never ever coming back. Never. _

Edward watched her leave. She was strange, no doubt, and more than a little frightening. But she had talked to him. He had forgotten how wonderful attention was, and how important it could make him feel.

She would come back. She had promised, after all. And maybe she could help him find Kim . . .

_**(Seems like Amy didn't exactly hit it off with Edward! Will she come back? Tune in next week to find out! ;)**_

_**P.S. Be kind. Please review!)**_


	5. Friends and Enemies

(Disclaimer- I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I do not own any aspect of this story except Amy. If I did own it all, you could bet I wouldn't be sitting here writing a fanfic about it!)

Chapter 5

"Amy! What in the world happened to you?" Rainy cried.

Amy had not had a pleasant hike back. She had fallen more times than she would like to remember, and once she had landed with her bad wrist underneath her. She had almost given up and lay down on the road to be run over at that point, but she had struggled on. Then she had gotten lost, the neighborhood looking identical at every spot to every other spot. But she made it.

"I had a seizure and fell down a hill," Amy said, not completely untruthfully. She _had_ had a seizure, and she _had_ fallen down that damn slope. More than once.

"Oh sweetie . . ." her mother said sorrowfully. "I'm so sorry."

Amy was bundled up; wrist carefully wrapped up separately, and pushed into the car, as they went to the hospital for the second time that week.

On the way home, loaded down with painkillers, more medicine for her epilepsy – more powerful stuff this time – and a heavy cast on her arm, Amy explained what had happened in more detail, carefully interspersing fact with fiction.

"I was coming home from school, and I wasn't paying attention to where I was going, so I got lost. And then I saw this big abandoned mansion on a hill, so I decided to go look at it. And while I was climbing the hill, I started to feel funny, so I turned and started going down, and the next thing I know, I'm at the bottom of the hill, and everything hurts."

Rainy looked at her daughter quietly. She felt that there was something she wasn't being told, but Amy looked back at her with large, innocent eyes.

Amy stayed at home from school for nearly a week before her mother finally made her go. She was dreading school so badly that her hands were shaking, and visions of the students were haunting her nights. Maybe her injury would make her a celebrity of sorts, and people would want to sign her cast. It wasn't likely, but she could hope.

Dragging her heels, Amy entered the school building. The first bell had already rung, she had to hurry or be late. But something strange was happening. The loud, obnoxious students were quieting as she passed, unashamedly staring at her and pointing at her cast. A couple of airhead cheerleaders giggled. The word _spaz_ was tossed around.

Face burning, she reached her locker and opened it, still feeling hundreds of eyes on her. Then, as if nothing had happened, they started to walk to class. More than one craned over her shoulder, trying to see inside. And then Amy realized what it had all been about. A lewd drawing, intending to represent her, she supposed, was taped onto her locker, with the word _Spaz_ on it. Face flaming, she ripped it off and crumpled it up, shoving it into her backpack. Furious, she glowered her way into class.

Classes passed uneventfully except for the occasional whispered _spaz, _and _freak_ or even _monster_. While walking to the cafeteria, Jake, a football player, dropped in beside her.

"Hey look, I'm really sorry about that drawing. Some jerk was bragging about it on the field yesterday," he said.

"Really?" Amy said hopefully. Maybe she had a friend after all.

"Yeah." His hand slid into hers, over the cast. It felt natural. Amy was light-headed with relief and joy. "It's a lame and pathetic way to hurt someone." Amy, blissful was about to agree, when his hand suddenly tightened forcefully, and started twisting. Amy was forced on the ground, sobbing.

"We've got better ways of doing things. Isn't that right Trish?" Jake called. A figure detached itself from the shadows. Smoking a cigarette. If a teacher caught her, she would be in trouble.

"Right," she drawled. She dragged hard on the cigarette, and then, accentuating every movement, took it out from between her smeary lips, and brought it down to Amy's arm. Before Amy could scream, Jake clapped his hand over her mouth. She kicked and thrashed, but to no avail. Jake was a football player, a quarterback. She was an undersized, slender girl with a broken wrist.

Smiling maliciously, Trish dug her cigarette into Amy's arm. Her desperate scream was muffled away to almost nothing by the large, sweaty hand clamped over her face.

"Just so you know –" Jake muttered into Amy's ear, "- there's no way I would touch a disgusting whore like you unless it was to hurt you. You make me sick, you unnatural spaz freak."

Trish giggled, a high-pitched, nasty sound, and jammed her cigarette into Amy's leg.

Then they all heard the sound of clicking footsteps down the corridor. Jake loosened his grip in surprise. Amy took her small blessings where she found them and bolted. At the end of the hallway was a door. She slammed her body into it, forcing it open, making sure her wrist was well out of the way. Nevertheless, some shock jarred it, aggravating the hurt it had just received.

"You filthy disgusting freak!" Jake howled. "You better make sure you never come back! We don't let retards like you stay here!"

"Mr. Allan, what is this –?" Amy heard a teacher begin. She was glad he was going to get in trouble, but it wasn't enough. Tears burned her eyes. She should have known better. All these years of experience, and she forgot it all, just because it looked like someone might be willing to toss her a bone.

She angrily wiped her eyes. Who would understand this ache she felt? Who would know what it felt like to be so alone?

Unwillingly, the answer came to her. _Edward_. He could understand. If anyone could understand, it was him.

_No!_ she argued to herself. _He's dangerous_. But then she remembered the sadness in his eyes, and could not believe that he would willingly hurt someone. _The scissors_. Granted, she would have to be careful. But she bet that you could really talk to that man, and that he would listen. That was good. She had ranting to do. Besides, she had promised the man she would visit.

Amy stumbled up the hill for the second time. Fury and pain fueled her onwards, as did the need to talk, to rant, to unload.

She lurched towards the door, and slammed on it with a rock she picked up. Even in the state she was in though, she was careful not to scar the wood.

When nobody answered the door, Amy opened it herself, flinging it wide, and running in. Edward was halfway down the stairs, eyes wide in amazement, his scissors snipping. He continued his descent, and said "Amy –," but she cut him off.

"Look what they did to me!" Her voice was high-pitched with excitement and fury. The shameful tears were back, and they were leaking down her face, she couldn't stop them.

Edward stood and stared. Amy strode over and jabbed her arm out towards him. She pointed at the ugly burn, viciously stabbing at it with her finger. "Look! Look what they did!" The tears were falling down her face faster, and she almost strangled on a sob rising in her throat. "I thought he was nice, and then he grabbed my hand and hurt me, and a girl burned my arm and my leg with her cigarette, and they called me horrible names, and – " By now, Amy was crying too hard to keep talking. Over her stormy weeping, she thought she heard Edwards voice say, "I'm sorry."

She sobbed for nearly fifteen minutes, practically on Edward's shoulder. He was alarmed. He was afraid of damaging this strange young woman even further, like he had so many others. She didn't need to lose more blood. And he was frightened by the tale Amy told. The thought that such things could happen had never even crossed his mind.

A thought slowly came to him. Perhaps such things were . . . common? The thought was terrifying. He was beginning to be glad of his forced exile.

Finally, Amy lifted her head, the tears ending. She felt hollow, numb, and yet . . . better. She gazed at the pale young man with bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sorry— I'm so sorry. I've gone and blubbered all over you," Amy said feebly.

Edward felt a strange emotion, a mix of sadness, pity, and empathy. This girl knew what persecution was, as did he.

Amy took a deep breath, and walked over towards the stairs, sitting down on the first step. Edward followed and stood in front of her, instinctively knowing that she needed someone to talk to.

Amy took another deep breath, and started in.

"Everything was great, until I turned nine," she said bitterly. "I was popular, well-liked, funny. I had it great, I was healthy, and not zombie-like because of medication. And then in fourth grade, we found out that I had epilepsy."

Edward tilted his head, looking confused. His scissors rasped against each other.

"Epilepsy is a disease of the brain, where you can have seizures or convulsions at any time. I had a seizure. Right in class. Right in front of everybody. Things were just . . . never the same after that. People started avoiding me, because I was a _'freak'_ and they were afraid if they got near me they would catch it. Of course epilepsy can't be caught, like a cold, it's a problem in your brain that you're born with. Well, not always, sometimes it's caused by trauma to the head, but whatever. I was born with it. Right after that grand mal seizure in class, I started getting picked on. I lost all my friends, because they didn't want to be seen with the spaz girl."

She gave a breathless sob. "The teasing wasn't so bad until a week ago. Then they started really scaring me. Following me around. Chanting _spaz_ over and over again. Throwing my books in the toilet. And then today," Amy shuddered. She still had another three weeks of school left. What was she going to do?

Amy looked at Edward. Sympathy seemed to radiate from his entire being. It made her want to cry again. She sat up straighter, and dried her eyes. She was not going to be weak.

She chanced a glance out the window. The sun was setting gracefully past the mountains.

"Listen Edward, I've gotta go. Mom will be worrying."

"Will you come back?" Almost his first words since she got here.

"Yes. I'll come back."

Edward watched her inelegantly galloping down the hill. He was happy that she'd come back. He'd about lost hope. But to see her in such a state was upsetting. He couldn't believe there were people out there who could do such things. Unless they were like Jim. Yes, he remembered Jim now. Jim would have been capable of doing something horrible like that. He had hit Kim. He would've easily been able to hit Amy. It was good that he was dead.

Edward slowly turned around and walked up to his attic, walking stiffly, with his arms spread out to his sides.

_**(Review, or the review monster will get you!)**_


	6. Thoughts

(Disclaimer- I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I do not own any aspect of this story except Amy. If I did own it all, you could bet I wouldn't be sitting here writing a fanfic about it!)

Chapter 6

The next day, being Saturday, Amy went up straight after lunch. She was getting better at finding her way around now, and she climbed the hill relatively easily.

She found Edward in the garden, cutting a topiary out of another bush. His scissors darted in and out of the bushes rapidly, and something was beginning to form in it. It looked like a tiger, ready to spring.

His face was stern looking, he was concentrating so hard, and his dark lips were pursed. Amy watched, almost hypnotized by the flashing blades. Edward gave the bush one last swipe, then turned around, and saw Amy for the first time. His dark eyes widened slightly. Her visits left him confused, not sure if he wanted her to come back or not. But he was frantic for human interaction. He would settle for anyone, even if she scared him.

"Good job," Amy said approvingly. "Very beautiful." Edward smiled, and his whole face lit up. He loved having his work praised. He snipped awkwardly at a piece of branch sticking out from the hand bush. Amy noted the bush and its symbolism for the first time. _How appropriate_ she thought.

She flopped down on the grass and turned her face towards the sun. She felt warm and toasty and content. She no longer felt the need to worry about tomorrow. It might not even come. This felt like a place where such things could happen.

Edward stood watching her enjoy herself. It never occurred to him to join her on the grass. Instead, he stood and watched her and wondered.

Who was she? He thought he had known everyone in Suburbia, but she was a stranger to him. Obviously, she lived too far away to be seen, even from his attic window. But then . . . how could she walk here every day? He looked at her, sitting on the grass enjoying the sun, and half smiled.

Not for the first time, he recalled her falling down his stairs. Something about the way her body had been twitching had seemed frightfully unnatural. And then he was really frightened, wondering if he might be the cause, wondering if maybe she was dead. He rushed down the stairs, and stood over her. To his relief, he had noticed she was breathing, so she was still alive, but he was still worried. He had fetched the blanket from one of the spare bedrooms and draped it over her, hoping to keep her warm.

And then she had woken up, and she was loud and demanding and frightening as before, but he sensed how weak and frightened she was underneath, and he hadn't left.

But oh, how useless he had felt when she wanted his help and he had none to offer her. It was times like those that made him wish he could rip these scissor hands off. He would be absolutely helpless, but he would never accidentally harm anyone ever again.

During his musings, one blade had wandered too close to his face and nicked it. He ignored the shallow rush of blood. He was used to it, and one more scar wasn't his worst nightmare.

Amy sat soaking in the sun, occasionally sneaking peeks at Edward from under her eyelashes. The man seemed absorbed in thought. His 'fingers' slowly swung open and closed.

His hair was gently shuffled in the breeze. Amy noticed how thin the man was. He looked like he had a lifetime of scars, not just on his face. There had to be a reason behind the melancholy.

She remembered her first impression of him, and chuckled quietly. She doubted that if she mentioned drugs he would even know what she was talking about, much less be taking them. Sitting in the comfortable silence, Amy wondered what Edward was thinking about. She felt a curious emotion well up in her heart, but she quickly stuffed it away. She didn't even want to think about it.

Edward remembered every word of the story she had told him yesterday. It terrified him. _People must have gotten much worse since the last time I was out there_, he thought. _Even Jim wasn't that bad_. _Maybe._

Amy spent an hour there, sometimes talking, sometimes just lying quiet and still, and sometimes wandering around admiring the topiaries. Once she walked up to him, squeezed his arm and smiled, trying to reassure him.

Finally, she deemed it an appropriate time to leave, and bid Edward farewell, and a promise to visit Sunday.

Jake's house was a little out of her way. But once she found the spray-can, she couldn't resist. What made it even better, no one was home. No one!

She carefully sprayed on the sidewalk, _Jake Horn _$#!+

Then she ran home, adrenaline surging through her veins at her own daring.

"I'd like to see him try to hold my hand now!" she muttered

_**(Sorry this was so short. Update coming soon, so please review!)**_


	7. Unrequited Love

(Disclaimer- I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I do not own any aspect of this story except Amy. If I did own it all, you could bet I wouldn't be sitting here writing a fanfic about it!)

Chapter 7

Slowly, a routine began to form. Every day, after school, Amy would climb up to the crumbly house, sometimes taking the most outrageous routes to avoid being spotted by the residents. She didn't know why she did this, but she despised the thought of gossipy old ladies spying on her and watching where she was going.

At school, all Amy could think about was this strange enigma, Edward. Why did he have scissors for hands? Many times she had been close to asking, but it just seemed so . . . tactless, and hasty. She decided to let herself wonder, and wait until he seemed ready for personal questions from her.

One day, after a particularly pleasant conversation with Edward, she had swiftly hugged him good-bye, carefully avoiding his blades. She ran away quickly, horrible embarrassed. She didn't know why she did that. A few minutes later, she felt a sharp stinging on her finger. Looking, she saw a long neat slice in her hand. She turned beet red. Why had she done that? She quickly shoved the question out of her mind.

Edward examined the thin trace of blood on his blade, his eyes dark and fathomless. He was confused too. But he knew he should've been more careful with his blades.

School, while no better, hadn't gotten worse. Jake had gotten expelled, along with Trish, and now everyone knew about the spray-paint caper. Those not wishing to have their houses defaced were quiet, and left her alone.

In class, while teachers droned alternately about homework or graduation, Amy doodled little pictures of Edward. Mostly his hands, drawing them a multitude of ways. They fascinated her. She wanted to know their mechanics, how they worked, _why_ they worked. But Edward would not let her near them. He was afraid of hurting her, and she didn't want to press the matter

"Amy, would you care to answer the question?" a voice cut in. Amy looked up quickly.

"Four," she said randomly.

"No. Gary? Were you listening?"

"Ummm – "

Amy drifted back into her dream world. She would go see Edward right after school. She had told her mother that she had found a park of sorts, and was fascinated by the garden, and that that was where she was going every day. Her mother, not believing a word of it, had sat back and nodded craftily. She was thinking "Boy. No doubt. But Amy's a good, responsible girl. I can trust her."

After class, Amy found another dirty drawing in her locker. But this time, instead of getting angry, she scribbled out her name so it couldn't be read, and cheerfully tossed it over her shoulder, not caring where it landed.

The chatter and slamming of lockers remained at fever pitch, but Amy sensed there was a portion that had fell silent, and were glaring at her. To spite them, Amy whistled cheerfully to class.

Edward was up in the attic, looking out his window, waiting for Amy. She was his first friend in a long time. She was incredibly quick, both in speech, and in motion. She seemed to be fueled by nervous energy. He felt dull and slow next to her. Her emotions at any one time were all over the place, ranging from happy, to raging fury, to despair. Edward had never met anybody like her. All the others he had met, had seemed to be basically stuck in one mind frame, and stayed there.

It was fascinating watching her talk. All the emotions she felt were clearly displayed on her face, and her expressions were a kaleidoscope of swiftly changing passions.

He could not understand why she was not widely popular; it was so fascinating just watching her move. Maybe it had something to do with that 'epilepsy' she had spoken of. But he really didn't understand what she had meant when she had spoken of seizures. Apparently she had had one when she was falling down the stairs, but mostly what he had noticed then was her falling down the stairs. That too confused him. How did she walk away from that?

Amy was dying for school to end. Being here made her uncomfortable, partially because teachers and students kept calling her back to reality, making time seem to pass even slower, and because she wasn't sure when a teacher would blow up on her.

Gleefully, Amy heard the bell ring. Not wasting a moment, she gathered her stuff and slammed out of class.

Slowly, Edward began to open up to her, as he became less intimidated by her every day. Some days she chatted away like mad. Other days, they merely sat in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company.

One day, Amy finally felt the time was right to start asking Edward questions. So, beaming confidently, she asked, "So Edward. What's your story?"

He looked at her uncomprehendingly, and asked "My story?"

"Yeah! Your life story. The events leading up to this point in your life," Amy said, settling back into a dusty, mildewy armchair.

"Oh. Well . . ." Edward hesitated.

"Go on. I won't judge. Unless! — unless you don't want to tell it." Amy said, embarrassed for pushing him.

"No! I mean – I don't mind. I was created here,"

Amy raised an eyebrow.

"My inventor – "

The other eyebrow went up in disbelief.

"Was about to finish me, give me hands instead of these," he raised his bladed hands. "But, he fell. He didn't wake up. He never did."

Amy lowered her eyes. She knew death when she heard it.

"I, I stayed alone for a long time. Then, a lady came and brought me to her place." His eyes went dreamy and distant. "I met her daughter, Kim. But the people in the town didn't want me to stay, so I had to come back here."

Amy looked into his eyes, and thought she knew what really happened. "Did they turn on you? Chase you back?" She winced at her own lack of tact. But the miserable look on her face was all the answer she needed. She became indignant, but then remembered her own first impression and reaction. She really wasn't much better than them. Amy grew thoughtful as she remembered something else Edward had said.

"So are you . . . not human?" she asked. Edward looked up. She saw he was confused. He didn't know himself. It must be a terrible thing to not know what he was. Agitated, his scissors worked up and down.

"Kim," he murmured.

"Who is this Kim, anyways?" Amy asked. To her amazement, she sounded childish and petulant. Almost like she was jealous.

"She was special," he said. "She told me she loved me."

Amy felt a brick drop right in the pit of her stomach. "Did – did you love her back?" she croaked. Edward didn't answer, but she could see it. He loved her. And he still did.

She stood up unsteadily. "I've really got to go, Edward. School night tomorrow and all. I'm graduating tomorrow, you know. Big day!" She laughed a little crazily, and then headed out the door.

She stumbled down the hill, feeling like she had just been cast adrift. Nothing had changed of course. Nothing except realizing her own feelings. Naturally, she'd only known the guy for three weeks. That was barely long enough to qualify him as a friend! But somehow, somewhere along those few weeks, she had fallen in love.

She could see him in her mind's eye as clear as day. Tall, pale, wild black hair, sensitive face marred by numerous scars, and those expressive eyes. And then those hands, which ensured she would never be able to get close to him. But of course, she was merely a friend to him. Someone to talk to and confide in, true, but nothing more.

Amy dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, furious at the rising tears. She had no right to expect Edward to return her feelings. But oh, if only he did!

"I'll make him love me!" she growled to herself.

_**(Hope you like it, more to come, please R&R blah blah blah)**_


	8. If You Love Him

(Disclaimer- I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I do not own any aspect of this story except Amy. If I did own it all, you could bet I wouldn't be sitting here writing a fanfic about it!)

Chapter 8

Amy stood in her room, holding her graduation cap and gown over herself in front of her full-length mirror. The confidence she had felt, that had separated her from the student's torments, had vanished. She had felt so beautiful up there, surrounded by loved ones. But she couldn't forget what Edward had said. She looked around her room, seeking comfort in some form.

Amy was chilled by the look of despair she remembered seeing in Edward's eyes on the mention of this Kim. He loved her, right enough.

She tried to think of some way to detach Edward from her. Tell him she was dead, married, that she didn't care about him anymore.

No. That would just hurt him more. And gradually, Amy began to realize that to her, Edward's happiness was more important than her own.

A plan introduced itself to her, but she rejected it. She wouldn't do it. She'd been hurt enough. She would keep on doing what she'd been doing for three weeks, and eventually, Edward would come to realize that she was right for him.

But the thought wouldn't leave her alone, constantly intruding on her thoughts. _Find this Kim. Bring her back to Edward. Reunite them._

_I'm just a girl! _Amy thought. _How am I supposed to find her? Suppose she doesn't even want to be found, or reunited with him? What if she lives far away? I can't drive a car!_

Amy sighed reluctantly. It would do no harm to look in her yearbooks, at least. Maybe just to see what she looked like. She went to the library, and flipped through, awash with memories. She decided to skip her high school yearbook, knowing if Kim had been in high school at the same time Amy was, she would've at least heard about her.

Amy nearly forgot what it was she was looking for, she was so involved in her memories, pointing at people she recognized, whom she had not seen for years, gleefully pointing at embarrassing photos. But finally, she had worked her way down to nine years ago, and still no sign of this Kim.

"One more," she sighed. "And then I'm giving her up as a fragment of Edward's imagination. She opened the yearbook up to the senior's page. Almost instantly, her eye caught the name, _Kim Boggs_. Amy's throat closed up. She closely examined the picture.

Kim was beautiful; there was no doubt about it. Big eyes, long thick hair, pretty face. Amy found it impossible to hate her. She snapped the book closed.

I won't do it. She left him there and didn't come back. She has no right to come back now.

But then she remembered the sadness on Edward's face, and she knew what she was going to do.

By a stroke of the worst kind of luck, Amy found Kim Boggs listed in the phone book. She was still Ms. Boggs, so she hadn't married. Amy cursed her for it. After a lot of wrangling over the phone, being put on hold seven times, and being redirected twice, Amy finally got her address. She lived just outside of Suburbia.

Before getting a ride there, Amy threw herself on her bed and bawled like a baby. Her heart was breaking. She pounded her pillow. She wanted to hurt herself. If she hadn't fallen in love, then she would be fine right now. But she knew. Every time she had looked in his eyes, she had seen it, but refused to believe it. She had no place in his heart. And if she was doomed to a dark, loveless life, then she would do all she could to ensure that Edward had a happy life filled with love and loved ones.

"Hell, when did I become so sentimental?" Amy asked herself.

She caught a cab, gave him Kim's address, and sat back, waiting to meet this Kim she had heard so much, and so little about.

Edward was concerned. Amy hadn't visited him in three days. He hoped she was all right, and that her graduation ceremony had gone well.

He retreated to the garden, and decided to make another topiary. As always, once he got started, he could lose himself in the work. As he sculpted, he thought about Amy.

She was his first real friend. Kevin had been too young and too shallow to really be a friend. Peg had been more like a mother to him. And Kim . . . that was something else entirely. He paused in his work, a tear slowly traveling down his face. He missed her. Even after all this time, the ache was just as strong, the pain just as intense. He gasped suddenly, cutting himself on his scissors. The heat emanating from the sun felt good on the cut.

The topiary was a girl. The details weren't clear yet, it could have been anybody, but it was a girl sitting, with her knees up, arms wrapped around her legs, and face turned up toward the sun. Edward hesitated, and then decided to dedicate it to Amy. He had plenty of sculptures dedicated to Kim, one for Amy couldn't hurt.

Sometimes, when he was involved in cutting the bushes, like he was now, he could pretend that the heavy, ungainly shears on his hands were ordinary clippers, and that when he finished, he could put them down and walk away, like an ordinary person. The question Amy had asked still haunted him. "So are you . . . not human?" Edward did not know. He didn't think he was just a machine, but he wasn't like other people. If only he had hands . . .

Amy returned home, disappointed but relieved. Kim had not been home, and she was not about to sit in front of her house waiting for her. But Amy wasn't sure if she would be able to get up the nerve to go again.

Maybe she should visit Edward. She hadn't been there since she had found out about Kim. He was probably feeling neglected. However, just the thought of seeing him caused her stomach to do flip-flops.

"Stop it Amy," she told herself. Her voice broke at her name. She stiffened her spine and set her jaw. She would not be weak. "You're going to go there, reassure him that you're not avoiding him, and spend some time with him."

She set off, her heart breaking a little more with each step.

When she was halfway there, she couldn't take it anymore. She dropped, heedless of where she landed, and screamed out, "Oh God! I can't do this! I can't even face him, let alone Her!"

She sobbed on the ground, and then finally realized she couldn't delay this any longer. She would go get Kim, finish ruining herself, and end it quickly.

She set off walking, even though it was a long way away on foot.

After three hours of steady walking, and a refusal to think, she made it to her house.

(Please review! If you review, I will send you the desktop bunny of doom! Come on, they're cute!)


	9. Let Him Go

(Disclaimer- I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I do not own any aspect of this story except Amy. If I did own it all, you could bet I wouldn't be sitting here writing a fanfic about it!)

Chapter 9

Edward decided to wander around the mansion; something he hadn't done in a very long time. He delicately flicked some dust bunnies off his father's inventions. He sighed, depressed. The once magnificent machines, were now just crumbling rust and jagged ends, covered thickly with dust.

Edward finally confronted a thought, which had been worrying at him. The mansion bothered him. It wasn't exactly the mansion itself. It was the emptiness. Amy's visits slightly alleviated that feeling, but it returned, worse than ever, once she left. It was a crushing, paralyzing, awful feeling. Loneliness. Was there anything worse in the world?

And then there were the memories . . .

"I know it's a little early for Christmas, Edward, but I have a present for you," a kindly looking old man said.

The Inventor opens a present, and picks two hands out of it. He shows them to Edward, who kisses one of the fingers softly. Edward smiles at the Inventor, and continues looking at the hands, when the Inventor's face suddenly goes stern, and he falls on the floor. In the process, the hands accidentally get cut apart by Edward's hands. Edward looks at the broken hands, and then at the Inventor, who is lying still with eyes closed, dead. Edward touches his cheek with his scissorhands, and a cut appears on his face. Edward looks at the blood on his blades.

Edward shuddered, and brought his scissor up to his cheek, mimicking the gesture he had used after the Inventor died. He heedlessly let his face be cut. He missed his father. Missed him so much. Everything would be right in the world, if only he hadn't died. He would have hands, he would know more about the world, he would fit in and be loved, and he would still have his father.

He gently touched the ancient cookie machine with his scissors. A rusty piece broke off and clattered onto the floor. Edward stared at it, his eyes nearly glowing with shame and self-remorse. He crouched down awkwardly, but he could not pick the piece up.

He whirled around stiffly, and walked outside. Here, at least, he made things of loveliness; his touch wasn't deadly, but beautiful. He absently snipped an overgrown branch. He stared around, eyes wide and melancholy, lips pursed. He remembered the day with Amy, where they had sat out here for hours, watching at a sunny sky. Today, however, was not so friendly looking. Storm clouds hung overhead. He would have to go back inside if he didn't want to rust up.

A desperate clanging startled him. Someone apparently had slammed the gate open and shut as hard as they could. He noticed it was beginning to drizzle.

Amy ran in, hair wild, eyes staring and crazy looking. She rushed over and grabbed his arms. Terrified, he tried to wrestle free, but accidentally sliced her arm right up to the shoulder. He stared numbly, expecting a barrage of scolding and anger, but Amy didn't seem to have noticed that her shirt was soaking in blood at all. She was yelling the same thing at him over and over, but shock kept him from hearing her the first several times.

"Kim's here!" she screamed again. "Kim's here!"

Edward stumbled forward, his legs failing him.

Ignoring this, Amy bawled out, "She won't come up unless you say you want her to, though! Well? Do you want her to come up? Answer me man!"

Desperately she hoped he would say no, that his face and voice would turn hard and angry. But it was a vain hope and she knew it. The drizzle intensified, turning into a bona fide rain. In seconds, they were both soaked.

"Well?" she screamed out. When Edward made no move to answer, she uttered a short scream of frustration. He was not making the break easy. He wasn't going to do it for her. She was going to have to sacrifice her own heart. She would have to do it herself.

She shoved Edward inside, and then ran down the hill to get Kim.

Kim rolled down her window. When she had met Edward, she had been seventeen, and beautiful. Ten years later, she was twenty-seven, and gorgeous.

"Well?" she asked anxiously.

Amy wiped her forehead, smearing blood on it, which was quickly washed away. "He's so excited he can barely contain himself," she lied. Edward hadn't been excited. He had been in shock.

Amy practically pulled Kim out of the car. Her heart was numb; it refused to believe the eyes' testimony. She worked with a feverish intensity towards the rending of her own heart.

Kim, eyes wide, gold hair plastered to her face, ran up the hill like she was a marathon runner, Amy puffing behind her. It was all becoming real now. She was losing him.

Forget that. You couldn't lose what you never had.

"If you love him let him go free. If he doesn't come back, you never had him. If he comes back, love him forever," Amy chanted to herself. Well, she was letting Edward go free. And she would never let him know how much it cost her. But she had a feeling that he was never coming back. Kim had let him go free. And now, she was coming back. They would be reunited, and it would be the perfect fairytale ending, with the prince and princess living happily ever after, while the wicked stepsister, or the ugly stepsister, or whatever the hell she would be considered, crawled back into the woodwork.

Life sucked.

Kim had launched herself through the door by now. Amy followed, more hesitantly. For the first time, she felt like a stranger. She felt unwelcome.

Edward was standing staring. He whispered, oh so quietly, "Kim?"

The hope, the fear, the love contained in that one name spoke worlds. Never had Amy felt so cheap, for thinking that she could possibly be worthy of him. She was a freak. The Spaz.

"Why didn't you come back?"

Kim's eyes dropped in shame. "It – it wasn't safe," she murmured. "Oh!" she suddenly cried out. "I'm here now! And – and I'm going to find a way to stay."

She went up to him, and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, contentment and pain simultaneously showing on his face.

Amy felt something die within her.

She turned and ran, as far, as fast, as hard as she could.

(Please review! If you don't, I'll leave you all hanging here! Ah, just kidding. I wouldn't do that. :k hee, hee

(oo)

The bunny rabbit of DOOM!


	10. Epilogue

(Disclaimer- I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I do not own any aspect of this story except Amy. If I did own it all, you could bet I wouldn't be sitting here writing a fanfic about it!)

Chapter 10 

Amy ran, it didn't matter where, just as long as it was away. But her mental exhaustion was too much for her, and she slowed down almost to a walk. For the first time, she noticed the sleeve of her shirt was sliced into ribbons, and she was soaked with her own blood. She cackled wildly, sure she had lost it this time.

She found herself in her own neighborhood. Before she could wonder how she had gotten there, she hurtled herself into her house. Her mother was gone. Good.

She hurried into the bathroom, and with trembling hands, took out her epilepsy medicine. It was still almost full.

"If I take them all, I'll never have a seizure again!" Amy said to herself in a singsong voice.

What the hell? Why do it like everybody else did? It was an easy way out. Amy's life was not easy. Her death shouldn't be easy, either. "I'll never get another chance to drive," she thought to herself. "A flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Suppose she should have a seizure on the road?

"Then you'll probably die, which _is_ the point of all this!" she told herself coldly. She flung the medicine against the wall. "I'll never need you again," she said to the shattered bottle on the ground. She went back outside. Fortunately, the neighbors always left their keys in the ignition.

Amy knew how to drive, she had always watched people driving with a fascinated longing. How she had always wished she could drive; the freedom it offered. Now, it offered freedom in a different form. She stomped on the gas, spinning out crazily. She righted herself, and set off down the road at ninety miles an hour, hoping she could leave her shattered heart behind.

Edward constantly was floating in front of her mind's eye. Every detail stood out crystal clear, clearer than the road itself. She squeezed her eyes shut, and then finally found what she was looking for. A giant overhang, underneath it a highway. The 'cliff' was immense. There was no doubt that if she drove off it at top speed, she would die instantly.

Amy fingered the steering wheel. The moment had come. It was time. She slowly pressed her foot to the gas, then lifted it as the car lurched forward. She tried again, but she just couldn't force herself to do it.

"Damn you!" Amy whispered to herself. "I always hoped I wasn't a coward, but here I am, and I can't do it! Why? What do I have left to live for?"

A sneaky thought entered her mind._ What were you living for before you met Edward?_

She sobbed. "Nothing! I had nothing to live for, and I didn't even realize it!"

_You're wrong. You were living for life itself, for the hope that things would get better!_

Amy shrieked out loud, "But they haven't! Nothing's gotten better! People my age are trying to kill me, the one man who doesn't care why I'm different doesn't love me, doesn't need me! Nobody understands! Nobody loves the spaz freak. I was stupid to think that would _ever_ change!"

_So now you just give up? Take charge of your life!_

"I am," Amy muttered, her gaze fixated on the overhang.

_Make something of yourself! Something that no one can look down on! Don't end your life over this! Don't wait for things to get better, _make_ them better!_

Amy sat drained from her argument with herself, then quietly turned off the ignition.

_5 years later . . ._

Amy sat in her Chicago apartment, and smiled broadly. Her latest book, the romance novel, "If You Love Him" was doing spectacularly. She was doing well, the income pulled from her full-time job as a writer enough to get her a fairly great apartment, and several unnecessary luxuries that she couldn't live without. She had a strong cult following, who read her every word almost religiously. She had had a few stalkers, but they were now in jail, where they wouldn't be bothering her. She had some problems with paparazzi, but she wasn't famous enough for it to become a real problem.

_Edward . . ._

Amy sat up suddenly, her feet thunking onto the floor. Where to hell had that thought come from? She hadn't thought of him in almost three years.

Amy smiled, remembering calling her mother, five years ago, after that fateful night. She had driven herself all the way to Chicago, and then phoned Rainy in a telephone booth. Rainy had been distraught and furious, and Amy had to do a little soothing, before explaining. Rainy had not accepted Amy's choice, and was coming down to get her, but finally Amy convinced her that this was the right thing to do.

And then Amy started sending big checks home to help her mother get along without her. She chuckled, remembering how quickly the nagging had ceased.

Amy casually picked up her book, her memories still fresh in her mind, and read the jacket cover. She frowned, a thought occurring to her. She flipped through a few pages, reading intensely, and then groaned.

Almost incident for incident, Amy had subconsciously written her own life story on these pages. Almost word for word. How could she have been so dense? Was she really that good at pushing her memories away until even she didn't recognize them?

_Edward . . ._

Amy shivered, and wondered for the first time in two years; _What happened after I left?_

Maybe someday she would visit. Maybe someday she would write a letter, or pick up the phone and call him. But not now. Not even soon. The memories were still too painful. Still too raw to be touched. But someday, she would go back, and re-visit her first friend.

_**THE END!**_

_**(That's all folks! Please review, I'm getting desperate here. Even a flame would be welcome!)**_


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